


Blankets

by miera



Series: Worthless [2]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-28
Updated: 2010-01-28
Packaged: 2017-10-06 19:02:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miera/pseuds/miera
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Malcolm, Trip and a third party are stuck on a planet in a blizzard. It's cold. They have to pool body heat. Hands in new places. You get the idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blankets

"Goddamnit," Trip Tucker muttered under his breath, as he dropped the delicate screwdriver for the second time. He left it lying in the blanket stretched across his lap, trying to breathe warmth back into his numbed fingers. He was dimly aware that his neck and back were aching and he'd lost feeling in his feet, which had been folded under him for...hours? He wasn't sure. Possibly days at this point.

He leaned back, resting against the shuttle pod which was directly behind him. Before him was the small fire which was providing their only source of heat. Beyond that was the gray cloud of the cave's entrance. The blizzard was still going strong, apparently. The one constant of the past several hours had been the keening howl of the wind outside.

Somewhere above the raging storm, Enterprise was orbiting the planet. Trip could almost envision Jonathan Archer pacing around the Bridge, or possibly in his cabin with Porthos watching attentively and wagging an encouraging tail every so often, waiting for the storm to clear and the rescue mission to head off to find them and bring them back to the safety of the ship, where there were showers with very, very hot water...

His head jerked back up. He was dangerously close to falling asleep, and he still had to finish one more circuit on the makeshift beacon he had cobbled together out of the damaged shuttle pod. Gripping the screwdriver tightly, he went back to work.

He felt movement next to him. The figure lying underneath the blankets stirred. Jessy Giordano stared around her for a moment, confused. Trip offered a somewhat strained grin. "Sorry, Toto. We're still not back in Kansas."

Jessy grinned back, stretching her cold muscles and checking her chronometer. "How's the beacon?"

"Almost done."

"With all due respect, sir, you are too."

Trip chuckled. "I'm alright. I'll get some rest as soon as I finish this."

She climbed out from under the blankets and pulled her jacket on. "It's about time for my shift."

He repressed a sigh. Jessy was only a few years younger than he was, with a breezy sense of humor he appreciated. Especially when his only other companion on this frozen rock was a certain uptight Brit who tended to take everything much too seriously. "You really think it's necessary to stand guard out there? I don't think there's another life form moving anywhere within a hundred kilometer radius in a storm like this."

"Standard procedure," she said in a neutral voice. "Besides, better safe than sorry, right?"

"Watch out," he teased. "You're gonna start to sound like your boss."

"Well he's been highly influential in these, my formative years." Trip laughed out loud at that, which helped wake him up again. Jessy grabbed a ration bar and some water and headed for the cave's entrance. "Sleep well, sir."

A couple minutes later a large, whitish blob moved across the cave towards the fire. Trip watched as the blob shook off a great deal of snow and water. Two gloved hands appeared and opened the front of a coat, from which emerged the more familiar form of Malcolm Reed. He began to shake the coat out, nodding once at Trip, "Commander."

"Frosty," Trip replied, not bothering to hide his grin.

Malcolm scowled, but instead of fighting back he spread his coat out to dry. With only a brief hesitation, he climbed under the blankets Jessy had recently vacated, sighing as the warmth left over from the other body sank into his cold joints.

Hearing Malcolm groan, Trip, despite his knowing it would probably be futile, attempted to hold a conversation. You never knew if Malcolm was going to give you the stiff upper lip silent treatment or be pleasant. Trip hunted for something to say. "Too cold out there for ya?"

"Not so much the cold as the standing," Malcolm replied, digging into the rations. "I'm out of practice standing to post for hours."

Trip nodded, not looking up from his work. Memories of his cadet days, long hours standing around doing nothing, made his feet ache in sympathy.

Evidently Malcolm was tired enough to chat. "Plus there's only so much pacing you can do in a space that small. I believe I have cramps in places I didn't know could cramp. Did Giordano sleep?"

"Yeah, she just woke up," Trip answered, wondering to himself if it would kill Malcolm to refer to his subordinates by first name once in a while. He couldn't imagine being directly supervised by Malcolm on a constant basis. The formality would drive him nuts. Trip wasn't much interested in his rank except as it affected his engineering reputation, but on certain occasions he liked having a little more weight to throw around.

While Trip was musing, Malcolm had been watching carefully. "You look like you need some rest yourself."

"Ah'm fine," Trip snapped without meaning to. At that propitious moment, he dropped the screwdriver for the third time. "Shit."

Trip reached for the fallen instrument but Malcolm got there first. As he handed it back to the engineer their fingers brushed and Malcolm flinched. "My God, Trip, your hands are ice cold."

"I'm almost done," Trip protested. He stopped short when Malcolm reached up and took his numbed right hand into both of his own. Malcolm's hands felt like they were made of lava. Smooth, dry, hot skin surrounded his hand, the warmth flowing gently into his fingers, soaking down to the bone. "Jesus, Malcolm..."

"Pockets," Malcolm replied laconically. He gently began to massage Trip's frozen fingers, trying to restore circulation.

Trip felt his eyes rolling back into his head. He was so exhausted, he could feel sleep beginning to fold around him. He tried to fight it off but it was no use. "You're gonna put me right to sleep, you keep that up," he murmured. A low chuckle and a sharp pinch to the skin between his thumb and forefinger was the response. "Ouch."

Malcolm looked at him questioningly and Trip realized he could feel the pain in his hand, which meant he could feel again. Malcolm let go and Trip felt a momentary sadness. He missed having the comforting touch of another human being's warmth. He flexed his hand experimentally. "I think I'm gonna live, doc."

"Just get finished with the beacon, and get some sleep."

"Giving me orders now, Lootenant?" He drawled the word out, knowing it annoyed the hell out of the other man.

Reflexively, Malcolm muttered, "Your safety and well-being are my responsibility, Mister Tucker. If that means forcing you to rest, then yes."

Trip shook his head. Malcolm drove him crazy much of the time, but at least the man was consistent. "You really think you could force me to do anything?" he asked.

"That's what Giordano is for," Malcolm observed drily.

Trip smiled. "It's kinda hard to believe sometimes. I mean, Jessy's so short."

Malcolm's eyebrows went up. "Don't let size fool you. She could kill you six ways from Sunday with one hand tied behind her back."

Trip glanced over at Malcolm and noted the gleam in his eye. "You just love that idea, don't you."

The security officer chuckled. "Let me put it this way: I'm glad she's on our side."

Trip sealed one last circuit and the beacon lit up. "Done," Trip sighed. He picked up his tricorder and checked; everything was in working order. "Now, before anyone else decides to give me a scolding," he glared at Malcolm, "I'm going to sleep. Wake me up when it's my turn to stand watch."

"Trip—"

"Don't argue with me, Malcolm."

"We agreed this afternoon that your work on the emergency beacon was too important—"

"And I'm done now, so I can pull my weight same as the rest of you. You'll wake me up when it's time, understood?" He stared at Reed's face, a "don't push me right now" look on his own. The command was implicit but definite.

Malcolm opened his mouth to argue, then closed it again and forced himself to take a deep breath. "Very well, sir."

Trip lay down, his back to Malcolm, his blood boiling. The man could be so damned stubborn! He lay still, knowing that his reaction was partly due to tiredness and stress. He heard Malcolm finish eating and lie down next to him under the blankets, careful not to make any contact with the other body.

Trip rolled his eyes beneath his closed eyelids. There were plenty of people on Enterprise who could annoy him. Their resident Vulcan killjoy sprang to his mind. But no one, not even T'Pol, could get him mad as fast as Malcolm did. He had no idea what exactly it was about their personalities that constantly threatened open warfare, and before he had time think much more about it, Trip fell asleep.

* * *

He was having a wonderful dream about the Gulf of Mexico. The water was blue and warm, like a hot bath. He was floating happily in the waves, a warm sunny sky over his head.

Except it seemed to be raining. Water, water, everywhere...but something was wrong.

Trip groaned aloud. He wanted to go back to sleep, back to that lovely warm dream. He tried to ignore the warning messages from his bladder, to burrow deeper into the blankets and the softness of his bed-

No, not his bed.

He came fully awake. He was on an icy planet, stranded by a shuttlepod accident. They were in a cave, waiting the storm out until help could arrive. He was lying on a rock floor that was definitely not soft.

Cautiously he opened his eyes. Yes, he saw the brown walls of the cave, the dull gray metal of the shuttlepod just behind him. Very dim firelight flickered over everything. Something was pillowed against his body, a soft cushion holding on to him.

The urgent message from his bladder was totally forgotten. There was an arm wrapped around his waist, and a warm body spooned against his back. He recalled Jessy leaving to go stand guard, which meant...

Malcolm.

As gently as possible, Trip turned onto his back, and looked over. Malcolm was asleep beside him, one arm thrown carelessly over Trip's middle. His face, normally as tightly wound as the rest of him, was relaxed, making him look younger despite the beard growth. His hair, instead of the usual regulation order, was messy, and his uniform looked rumpled.

Trip felt a tingling in his groin that had nothing to do with his bladder. His heart began to pound as the thought flashed through his mind, "So this is what Malcolm looks like in the morning." So relaxed, defenses all down; it was indescribably sexy.

Trip's fingers twitched with a desire to touch Malcolm's scruffy jawline, but his bladder regained his attention at that moment. He started, recalling where they were, and then froze as his reaction made Malcolm twitch. What would he say, if he woke up and found his body entwined with the engineer's, cuddled up like...? Trip couldn't bring himself to even think the end of the sentence. Would he be angry? Ashamed? Or, dear Lord, not?

Trip held his breath. Malcolm sighed in his sleep, and rolled over on his other side, his back now facing the other man. With a brief prayer of relief, Trip climbed out of the blankets and headed for the far end of the cave to answer the call of nature.

When he was finally done, he began to go back towards the fire. He paused, unsure what to do. He was afraid of what he might do if he climbed back under the blankets. As he stood there, he heard a noise. It was Jessy, coming from the entrance to the cave, trying to brush some of the snow off her..

"The storm appears to be breaking, sir."

"Good. Is it time to switch shifts?"

"Yes. I'll wake Lieutenant Reed."

"No!" he said, too quickly. "Let him sleep. I'll take over. The beacon is running, so it shouldn't be too long now." He grabbed the coat Malcolm had been wearing earlier and headed for the cave's entrance, putting as much distance as possible between him and the sleeping figure by the fire.

* * *

After a brief trip to Sickbay, a huge bowl of chicken soup and the longest, hottest shower of his life, Trip finally crawled into his own bed. He had jokingly asked if he could borrow Porthos to serve as a bedwarmer. Now he sank under the covers. Starfleet's standard issue mattresses had never felt so soft before.

He turned out the light and settled in. He felt tired, but not drowsy. He was tempted to roll over, but he stayed still, reminding himself it could take anywhere from seven to ten minutes for an adult to fall asleep.

Twenty minutes later he was finally beginning to get sleepy. But he still felt uneasy, lying there in the dark. Like there was something he had forgotten to do. He ran over the ongoing list of things he kept track of in his head, all of Captain Archer's orders, and came up with nothing. Mentally he shrugged.

Then a little voice in his head suggested it wasn't something undone. Something was missing.

Such as what? He had his blankets, his pillow, he was warm and safe on board the ship.

He realized it wasn't a thing that was missing. It was a feeling. The feeling of being held by another body, warm and hard against his, clinging to him even in sleep. The feeling of someone else's breathing against his skin. Of a strong arm cradled around his stomach as if to keep hold of him during the night.

The bed suddenly seemed very empty. Trip flopped on his back and stared up into the dark. It was quite awhile before he finally nodded off that night.


End file.
